Flitter
by Oracle Five
Summary: Yugi takes a moment to ponder the meaning of life, touch, and his other self. One-shot.


Heh...wrote this one a while ago, believe it or not. Never got around to posting it before now, but since I'm getting back into the fandom, I figure why not?

**Disclaimer**: I own not this Yugioh franchise~

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It's something I noticed recently. He doesn't really like being touched.

No, that isn't right. That makes it sound like physical contact is something he avoids, something that bothers him. And I can tell that that isn't the case at all.

It isn't that he doesn't _like_ it; it's more as if…when it comes to physical contact he doesn't know what to do. Which is definitely odd for a guy who's so confident; the one who's always on the first line of defense. Usually he's the last line, too.

The weird thing is how hesitant he gets. Oh, he'll reciprocate a handshake, or a high-five. And when I'm down, he'll always be there with a hand on my shoulder and a soft word in my ear. I guess it wouldn't be quite so _very_ strange if we didn't have the ultimate sort of physical contact; how more physical then sharing your body with another soul can you get?

He always reciprocates, but it's a rare thing for him to initiate. Most of the time, he won't reach out unless I've reached out to him already – or he _will_ reach out, but he won't be able to make himself close the gap.

Which is really, really _weird_, because I know for a fact that he _thrives_ on physical contact. Well, a mix of physical and not-so-very physical; how physical is it to reach out and touch someone's mind and heart and soul with your own? Just because it feels…feels like _that_, doesn't mean it qualifies.

…This is harder to explain then I thought. Let me try an example. Right now is a good one. Everyone around me, at the moment, can see me leaning against a tree, relaxed in the shade. I, on the other hand, can see the other me sitting next to me. Well, not sitting. He's asleep, curled up on the ground with his head pillowed on his arms. His back is pressed against my side.

He's tired…I'm tired. We've both been through a tough trial lately, although his was far worse then mine. Since he was the one in my body, I got to share in the exhaustion and physical pain…he went through worse pain, pain that still makes his heart ache and twinge. I can feel it, pressed against mine for every beat.

…Sharing a body is an interesting experience. I can only think of one, maybe two other people who might know what I mean, though I don't think 'sharing' is the right word for their experiences. But at the very least, they'd know what I meant by this kind of constant contact. Though they wouldn't know what I mean _exactly_, they'll have a better idea.

…This is just confusing things further. Let me try explaining again.

I think the issue might be that he doesn't quite know what to do. Oh, he remembers how to walk and talk and move when he's in my body, but when it comes to touch, he's hesitant, uncertain – he's not sure he'll know what to do, or how to do it. It isn't something that happens all the time – set him down at a duel or any other game, give him an idea of the rules, and he's as precise and exuberant as you please. Put him in any other situation, and he balks. He backtracks. And then, more often then not, he turns to me. I'm his interpreter, you see, the one that gives him his answer about _what's happening what's going on what do I do here?_

…Considering that he's the spirit of an ancient Pharaoh, I shouldn't be surprised that he _needs_ an interpreter. A Pharaoh was literally a deity – as far as I can tell, he would have been completely untouchable during his life.

_Completely_ untouchable? That might explain it. A pedestal is a very lonely place to be put on, separated from everyone and everything else. Maybe that's why his default position is to stand stiff and straight, with his arms tightly folded – except that at times it seems to me that he's really just holding himself. Is there anyone else to do that for him, to hold him?

To my eyes, he's asleep, with no other contact save his back to my side. To my heart, his soul is curled in the grasp of mine, the best comfort I can manage without disturbing him from his rest. In the beginning he slept inside me, curled up in a tiny, shadowy corner of my heart and soul, only waking to fight and play. It feels almost like that again, he's sleeping so deeply. I don't even know if I could rouse him at the moment…

When he does succeed in contact, it's always striking. His touch is very delicate, light and precise. His fingers will flit across my palm before he clasps our hands together; he'll rest only the tips on my shoulder at first. I'm certain I don't imagine the faint, phantom brushes I feel sometimes across my forehead, during those times when he's feeling more pensive, more melancholy.

…Sometimes I wonder if my friends are on to something when they shoot me those odd looks. He distracts me easily, as you might expect someone living in your head to do, and when I return my attention to the outside world I keep getting these uncomfortable, downright _nervous_ looks. Those looks are the ones that tell me how confused my friends are, how it makes them anxious when my mind wanders away so easily, how sometimes I outright scare them. Usually I only see that last look when I've done something particularly selfless and self-hazardous.

That's always been something disappointing. I can't explain to them, they don't have a context for it! It wouldn't make sense to them, what I'm feeling when there's a soul pressed against mine and the two of us are both relishing in the feeling. At best I'd only be misunderstood, or else he would be. And that wouldn't be any good at all.

He does, after all, really love to be touched. I've known it all along.


End file.
